


Depth of Field

by littlefrog1025



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Anal Sex, Domestic Fluff, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, Established Relationship, Future Fic, Kid Fic, M/M, Mates, Overstimulation, POV Stiles, Pack Dynamics, Pack Family, Pack Feels, Pack Mother Stiles Stilinski, Photography, Sterek Week 2016, deputy!Derek, writer!stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 21:01:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8416588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlefrog1025/pseuds/littlefrog1025
Summary: Stiles loves taking pictures of his pack.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I love domestic!Sterek so this was bound to happen. Enjoy!

* * *

It’s not as though Stiles planned on becoming the Anne Geddes of the pack. It just sort of became this thing after he and Derek had Flynn and James. He picked up a camera and never put it down. And the irony isn’t lost on him either. Stiles used to groan and complain about his friends from college that consistently posted pictures of their kids all over their Facebook page, clogging up his news feed with image after image of their toddler doing the most mundane thing. _“Oh, look, Johnny is shitting his diaper. Hooray!”_

Serves him right that the second the twins are born he’s capturing every moment on his iPhone and shoving pictures of them in the faces of random strangers at the supermarket. His father makes it worse by doing the same, but instead he tortures his deputies and litters his desk and refrigerator with picture upon picture of his grandchildren. Stiles keeps all his photos of them saved to any and every tech device he owns. Which is how he managed to fill every byte of space on his phone with hundreds of pics of his kids and the pack’s kids.

However, when Derek comes home with an $800 digital [camera](https://shop.usa.canon.com/shop/en/catalog/eos-m3-ef-m-18-55mm-is-stm-kit-black#) instead a new phone for him, Stiles is a bit confused.

“I think you should take a class,” the Alpha wolf says, handing Stiles the camera.

“Like a photography class?”

Derek shrugs. “Why not? You’re really good and could get better with some skill.”

Stiles chuckles. He opens the drawer next to the [stove](http://www.houzz.com/photos/42339654/Home-Addition-transitional-kitchen-kansas-city) and pulls out oven mitts.

“What,” Derek asks.

“Nothing. I just can’t believe you think I have time to take a class. Let alone be good enough to take one.” Stiles opens the oven and pulls out a casserole dish of [baked mac and cheese](http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/alton-brown/baked-macaroni-and-cheese-recipe.html).

“I do think you’re good enough. You should try it,” Derek encourages.

“Monkey. Pickle. Put your crayons away, okay?” Stiles scoops two spoonfuls of mac and cheese onto small plates with cartoon characters on them as Derek helps Flynn and James clear away their mess off the island. He sets down the plates in from of their eager children. “When would I even get to do this,” he asks his husband, thinking about it. “My editor is up my ass, and I have horrible writer’s block. I still haven’t found James a speech therapist yet, Flynn’s eating habits are getting weirder and weirder, which is looking more and more like OCD—”

“Stiles. I told you about going online and trying to ‘diagnose’ our daughter yourself,” Derek groans.

“— Isaac is still grieving; I’m beyond concerned about that because I don’t think he’s sleeping, we somehow have a wendigo situation that needs to be handled, my dad’s cholesterol is high again because I know, _I just know_ , he’s eating chili cheeseburgers and jalapeno poppers on his lunch break—”

“Okay. Calm down. Stiles, we’re a team. I don’t know how many times I have to remind you of that. It’s you and me. Stiles and Derek. Stop putting so much on your plate. I can find Jamie a speech therapist, and I can keep a closer eye on your dad at the station. Do I find it strange that our daughter has stopped eating anything that’s the color red for the last month? Yes. But it’s just a phase. An odd one, but a phase. Not OCD. And not Asperser’s. Also, you’ve had writer’s block before and gotten past it. You will this time, too. This pack gives you more than enough material. And as far as Isaac is concerned… He needs time, Stiles. There’s no expiration on grief. When you lose someone you love, you never get over it. You just learn to live with it. And Isaac has lost a lot of people in his life, adding his wife to that list…”

Stiles nods. If there’s anyone that understands loss it’s both he and Derek. Especially Derek.

“You need a break from everything. You need to enjoy something. And I see how happy you are when you’re taking pictures.”

“Yeah, but a college course, Derek?”

“It’s not your junior year at Stanford. It’s not even a college course. It’s a night class at Beacon Hills Community College.”

Stiles raises an intrigued eyebrow at the werewolf. “Someone’s thought about this.”

“You’re not the only one that knows how to do research, Stiles.” He pulls Stiles into his arms. “You’re all over the place. And when you get like that you don’t focus right, you get exhausted, and you start having panic attacks because you’re spread too thin and you’re not sleeping. You need less things to worry about and more to enjoy.”

“But—”

“You’re doing it. Don’t make me do the ‘Alpha thing’.”

“You wouldn’t dare?”

Derek cards a hand through Stiles hair. “Try me.”

And Stiles kind of wants to, because challenging Derek always leads to fun, but he’s doing this for Stiles and it means a lot that he cared enough to buy him a camera and look into him taking a class in something that brings him joy.

“Fine. But only because you bought that camera.”

Derek smiles. “Whatever you say Stiles.”

* * *

Their first assignment in class is simple: take a candid photo of someone.

Stiles manages to get a really good one of Derek laughing as James helps him pull up weeds from their garden. It’s a bright, sunny day and the natural light is perfect for such a schmaltzy, but adorable picture.

Stiles receives coos from the elderly grandmas in the class, along with a warm smile and high marks for his use of natural light by the instructor. He doesn’t really think he did anything other than manage to snap a picture of his husband and son in their front yard then go back to staring at the blank Word doc on his laptop screen. But his picture is hanging up with everyone else’s at the front of the class, and all Stiles can think of is Isaac.

Isaac, and his son, Gavin.

Stiles sneaks out of class a bit early and heads to the print shop in town.

»»»

Isaac sits down on his [couch](http://www.houzz.com/photos/26127224/Summer-Thornton-Hinsdale-Family-Home-transitional-living-room-chicago). “…Wow.”

“You like it?”

Tears well into Isaac’s crystal blue eyes as he continues to stare at the framed [photo](http://weheartit.com/entry/group/820467) in his hands. “Um, yeah. Yes. I love it, Stiles.”

Isaac and Malia hated each other for all of what seems like mere minutes now, before running together under the full moon one night, and falling for one another. They married at the courthouse just months later, but held off on having a baby until they could buy their own house instead of living with Peter.

Malia was the picture of health the entire time she was pregnant. Both her doctor and Deaton had said so. Consequently, it was nothing short of shocking to them all when she died giving birth to her son. She hadn’t even the chance to hold him before her brain started to hemorrhage. Eclampsia they said.

Gavin’s a year old now. He’s spent a year without his mother, and Isaac’s spent a year without his wife. And a rough year it’s been.

Stiles knows that a sentimental picture isn’t going to fix everything, but he was thinking of his beta wolf, feeling hopeless in helping him to live with his loss, and remembered the picture he took 9 months ago... Isaac hadn’t left the house in weeks. He was a single father now, with an infant son that needed every minute of his attention. Attention Isaac wasn’t giving him, wallowing in his grief and neglecting his child.

Stiles tried everything: passively letting him slip into depression, denial, mothering him, persuasion, manipulation, yelling, and threats. He tried everything he could think of, eventually feeling frustrated and powerless, crying to the sheriff about his desolate friend. He still has no idea what his father said to the curly-haired wolf, but he knows he paid Isaac a visit soon after. Whatever was said seemed to have been enough for Isaac to shower, dress and leave the house, Gavin in tow.

He met Stiles for coffee. They sat in reasonable silence for a long while, Gavin being rocked in Stiles’ arms as his eyes— so much like Isaac’s— found every person, every sound, in [Coffee Bean](http://www.coffeebean.com/) interesting. Stiles held tight to Isaac’s hand when tears and soft, broken cries erupted from him. He doesn’t know if losing a lover feels the same as losing a parent. He never wants to find out, but he imagines loss is loss is loss.

It’s not a wonder they’ve all managed to find one another. They were supposed to. This pack of misfits toys, broken, used, and in need of repair. Death has taken a lot from nearly all of them. And sometimes it feels like it’s taken everything.

Isaac excused himself to the restroom the clean his face. He came back to the table minutes later, ordered a raspberry scone, large black coffee with sugar, and talked around the elephant in the room for nearly two hours.

Afterward, he hugged Stiles, holding onto him as tight as he could with a child in his arms. He turned down Stiles’ offer to move back in with he and Derek, for the hundredth time, and told the human to thank the sheriff for him.

Stiles watched Isaac walk to the end of the block carrying Gavin, forsaking the baby carrier to hold his son in his arms. He remembered he bought his camera— for some odd reason— and snapped a picture of them, because for the briefest moment, Isaac no longer looked like a shaken leaf on a cold breeze. He looked…in love. He held Gavin up, burying his nose into the plushy cheek of the baby, took in his smell, and then kissed him.

Derek told him their children smelled of them both. That when he focuses enough he can pull out each scent, distinguishing which were Stiles’ and which were his own, mixed together to give Flynn the distinct smell of soft earth, a fall breeze, and apples. James smells sweet, closer to the way Stiles smells, according to Derek, like a bakery; vanilla, blueberries, and a summer rain.

He wondered if that’s what Isaac was doing; trying to pull Malia’s smell from Gavin. If that’s why he looked so whole and content.

He doesn’t know. And he’ll never ask.

“I was going through some old pictures on my laptop and found this one.” He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “Thought I’d frame it for you.”

“I’m glad you did. Thanks.”

Stiles gives him a small smile. “You’re welcome.”

* * *

Jackson takes the most ridiculous pictures of his daughter [Hannah](http://weheartit.com/adcockjessica/collections/112606561-hannah-grace-whittemore) and posts them on Instagram. Stiles has a million photos of her that he believes are far better than the gross, shallow parading the beta wolf exploits online of his 5 year old, and can’t for the life of him understand why Jackson just won’t post any of those instead. He also has no idea why Kira keeps letting him do it, but she does.

Stiles clicks on the latest series of pictures posted.

_7, 841 likes in only two days! What the fuck?!_

“It’s just a picture of a little girl….” Wearing haute couture however. In dark shades and carrying a clutch purse in her tiny hands.

There’s one from last week with even more likes and over a thousand comments: Jackson’s at Starbucks with Hannah and they’re both dressed alike in a fashionable scarf, leather jacket, and aviators, holding identical, overpriced drinks in their hands.

It’s captioned: **Daddy/daughter time. Crushing it @ Starbucks. #hannah-banana #QT #myfavgirl # <3<3<3**

Stiles has to admit that it is actually really adorable.

“Goddamit,” he grumbles.

He likes the picture.

“I thought you hated Jackson’s pictures.”

Stiles jumps thirty feet in the air off the [couch](http://www.houzz.com/photos/42339617/Home-Addition-transitional-living-room-kansas-city). “Jesus!” He punches Derek in his chest. It does nothing, but he doesn’t care. He deserved it regardless. “You scared the shit out of me! I thought we talked about this. Wear a bell or start announcing yourself when you enter a room.”

“I’m not doing either of those things. Is Hannah drinking coffee?”

Stiles turns back to his laptop. “Yup.”

“She’s five. She’s a kitsune, but she’s still 5 years old.”

“Tell that to [Sally Mann](http://www.nytimes.com/2015/04/19/magazine/the-disturbing-photography-of-sally-mann.html).”

Derek scoffs. “Let’s not exaggerate. Jackson is far from Sally Mann. I just don’t think 5 year olds should be drinking frappuccino.”

“I love that you know who Sally Mann is.”

Derek kisses the top of Stiles’ head. He wanders into the kitchen. “I’m making something to eat before I leave. You want some?”

“Depends on what you’re making.”

Derek rummages through the fridge, settling on the half a pound of Yellowfin, raw tuna he bought yesterday. “[Tuna tartare](http://www.themeaningofpie.com/2011/01/tuna-tartare/).”

Derek has definitely expanded Stiles’ food palette beyond Dr. Pepper, Skittles, and curly fries since they’ve been together. “Sounds good.”

Stiles closes out of Instagram and opens Microsoft Word, finally getting to the thing he’s supposed to be doing: writing the third novel in his ominous werewolf series.

“I like that picture you took of Kira,” Derek says, after several minutes of comfortable silence. He’s in his deputy uniform chopping green onions and Stiles doesn’t know what he wants more, the food, or Derek, naked and fucking him into the kitchen floor.

“What?”

“You took a picture of Kira after Hannah was born that I like. And I like the one of [Hannah](http://weheartit.com/entry/group/85149973) in the Halloween costume Lydia made for her.”

Stiles furrows his brow, trying to remember the pictures… He gives up and opens the ‘Pictures’ file on his computer. He types in Hannah’s name and up pops nearly 124 pictures.

(To be fair, most are from pack gatherings, birthday parties, Christmas, and full moon runs.)

He sees it. The very first picture he’d ever taken of Miss Hannah Grace Whittemore...

Kira had a difficult pregnancy and was bed-ridden during most of it. She had a hard time keeping weight on seeing as her morning sickness lasting well into her second trimester made it hard to keep anything in her stomach for long.

But Hannah was born on March 27th at Beacon Hills General, healthy as a horse and screaming her lungs out.

Kira had a C-section and was put back on bed rest the moment she was released from the hospital.

Jackson, Stiles admits, was incredible. He gladly catered to her every whim, was on top of whatever Hannah needed, made sure the house was clean, and even organized a schedule for the pack to adhere to when visiting Kira while she was confined to the master bedroom.

Stiles and Derek visited first. They’re the Alphas, and Derek needed to ‘bless the baby’ and accept her as pack. Derek performed the short ritual informally, in the master bedroom, seeing as how Kira wasn’t permitted out of bed until instructed otherwise by her OB/GYN. After that, he and Jackson went to the kitchen to make lunch while Stiles and Kira played with the baby.

Stiles brought his camera, dying to capture the new baby on film, but Kira, feeling embarrassed, refused to let him include her in the picture. She was recovering slowly, weak and pale. She couldn’t stand that long in the shower to wash herself, so Jackson gave her a bath in the morning and at night. She didn’t feel her best, therefore, the last thing she wanted was for Stiles to take a picture of her in such a vulnerable state.

Kira had always appeared pretty confident to Stiles; awkward and clumsy, but confident nonetheless, in her chic geekiness. Though he imagines being an out-of-your-depth teen is a lot different than being a grown woman who just had a thorny child bearing experience she was still recuperating from. Sadly, it didn’t stop him from begging with his big, doe eyes and pout.

Kira’s like Scott; not so finite and resolute in her affirmatives. In other words: easily manipulated and ready to cave.

She gave in with a weak smile, but made him promise not to show her face or _“my gross post-baby body.”_

He promised, and took a beautiful [picture](http://weheartit.com/entry/group/106650650) of Kira and Hannah that he’s currently embarrassed about not gifting to her back then.

“I like those pictures, too,” he says, finally responding to Derek.

Stiles closes out Word then Googles the hours of the print shop.

* * *

Peter and Braeden’s daughter, Ashleigh, is just as sassy, fiercely independent, and cool as her parents.

She’s going to be a very dangerous teenager when the time comes. And Peter is nothing short of ready for the onslaught of boys that will attempt to get in between the legs of the gorgeous Hale girl. Stiles is pretty certain Ashleigh can handle herself (her parents are Peter and Braeden after all), but Peter is aching for the opportunity to rip out the throat of a unsuspecting, terrified 16 year old.

Stiles eagerly awaits the day. It’s going to be epic.

“Uncle Stiles. I need more quarters for the game,” Ashleigh asks.

Lydia’s attempt at throwing her son a cowboy-themed surprise party at the dude ranch 20 miles out from Beacon Hills, backfires immensely when he announced he wants to go to [Tony & Tina’s Arcade Palace and Mini-golf](http://www.ilovebigals.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/04/Arcade.jpg) instead. Needless to say, Lydia was not thrilled about the six hundred dollars she had already sunk into private horseback riding lessons for him.

Thus, here they are, at the arcade with fifteen 7 year olds (plus pack kids) running amok amongst the flashing neon lights, and loud electronic boops and beeps of the place. Scott ran off like the giant man-child he is, and truth be told, Stiles was jealous, wanting to chase after him to play first-person shooter games, but he can’t. He’s an adult. He has to help and keep track of everyone. And Lydia looks frazzled enough as it is.

Lydia Martin spent their entire adolescence and teenage years embarrassing them all with her dazzling brilliance, intense methodology, and utter control. But Stiles would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy this Lydia. The one that became a wife and mother and realized that there’s actually no such thing as control, and the tiny semblance we as humans think we have, is actually an illusion.

She, like any good parent, tries to restore some sort of order to her life and the lives of everyone she cares about, but when you have small, helpless individuals in your world that you are responsible for turning into a functional person, chaos can ensue. Things go wrong. Plans change. And all you can do is roll with them. Like throwing a corny, discounted pizza party at the arcade for your son who’s having a blast. Much more fun than he’d be having at the ranch.

He’s been keeping tabs on the screaming kids, cleaning up pizza crust, gift wrapping paper, and making sure everyone uses the bathroom. Lydia spilt red Kool-Aid down the front of her white shirt, had to clean cake out of her daughter, Beth’s ears, for some reason, and got into a bit of a tiff with another mother whose unruly son threw balls from the ballpit at Ashleigh when she didn’t want to play with him.

Stiles snatched Ashleigh away, when she poked the kid in the arm with a plastic fork and he cried crocodile tears to his mother. Hence, the two of them currently taking the Whack-A-Mole game hostage for the last 20 minutes. Orange tickets are piled by her pink sandaled feet as she asks him again for more quarters.

Stiles pulls a roll of them from his pocket and breaks it against the side of the game. He hands her a dollar’s worth.

She’s good. More than good. She hits every one with fierce concentration, eyes glowing beta yellow as she grunts, whacking the goofy-looking moles.

Stiles takes his phone out of his hoodie pocket. He snaps a picture of her playing.

“You’re going to make me mess up,” she complains, eyes still on the game.

Stiles laughs at her irritancy, and takes another picture, closer to her face.

“Uncle Stiles!”

He’s not her uncle. Her cousin by marriage, but they’ve all found it easier for her to refer to everyone as ‘aunt’ or ‘uncle’. Though she does call Derek ‘Alpha,’ which fills the werewolf with a small swell of pride each time she does.

Stiles moves his camera phone closer to her face and this time she turns to him with a pout, ready to snap at him for being a pest. Stiles hits the little camera button and marvels at the [picture](http://weheartit.com/entry/group/25371138) taken with her pink mouth like duck lips. He chuckles.

Ashleigh shakes her head and returns to her game.

So much like her parents…

»»»

“You okay, Red Queen,” Stiles asks.

It’s nighttime. The kids are tuckered out and half asleep in various cars. The non-pack kids have already been picked up by their parents and gone home.

Lydia puts the last of Bailey’s presents in the trunk of her car and closes the boot. “I might kill Jordan.”

Stiles snorts. “It’s not his fault he and Derek had to work. Duty calls.”

“I know. But I’m exhausted, sticky, smelly, and queasy with cheap, shitty pizza. I want to be angry at someone and he’s not here to defend himself, so… Thanks for your help today. You and Allison and Boyd were great. I owe you guys beer and hot wings.”

And to think there was a time thought hot wings were so beneath her.

“Come here.”

She follows him to his car. Flynn and James are asleep in the back seat. There’s a thick chocolate milk mustache along Flynn’s top lip.

Stiles quietly opens the passenger door. He reaches down and picks up a picture frame.

“I know its Bailey’s birthday, but I thought you should have a [gift](http://weheartit.com/entry/group/575195), too.”

He hands it to her.

It’s a dark silhouette of Lydia in a nondescript room, nearly 8 months pregnant.

“It’s our trip to Oregon when the pack went camping and you were—”

“—pregnant with Bailey. The two of us stayed in a cabin while everyone else slept outside in tents. Even Allison who was pregnant, too.”

He smiles at her fondly remembering their trip. “You look good with your hair up.”

She chuckles. “Oh, yeah? What about now?”

She’s a mess, covered in various stains of various colors, sweaty, with bags under her eyes and no make up. Her hair is atop her head in a sloppy bun.

“You’re stunning, Red Queen.” And he means it. He loves this Lydia: imperfect, fatigued Lydia, who just wants a big glass of wine and to sleep for 10 hours.

She smiles lovingly, like it’s all she’s needed to hear today. “Thanks, Stiles.”

She hugs him.

“You like the gift?”

She pecks his cheek. “I love it.”

Peter strolls out of the arcade carrying a sleeping Ashleigh in the crook of one arm, and a pink and purple [Big Wheel](http://originalbigwheel.us/mwObwPrincess16.html) in the other. “We heading out of here yet,” he asks.

“Did she win that,” Stiles asks, pointing to the Big Wheel.

Peter snorts. “She cleans up on Whack-a-Mole.” It’s all he offers as he heads to his black and red [Dodge Challenger](http://www.garygibsonphoto.com/challenger/IMG_1301asml.jpg), because he would own that car while the rest of them are driving sedans and SUVs.

Stiles rolls his eyes. He turns to Lydia. “Ready to go?”

“Was ready hours ago,” she answers.

Stiles wraps an arm around her shoulders as he walks her back to her [car](http://cms.kelleybluebookimages.com/content/dam/kbb-editorial/make/bmw/x5/2015/2015-bmw-x5-front-action-guide.jpg/jcr:content/renditions/cq5dam.web.1280.1280.jpeg).

* * *

Boyd and Erica’s daughter, Sophia, is hilarious and talkative. She’s over Stiles and Derek’s place more than any other kid in the pack and Stiles loves it.

She’s helpful, is always up for any of Stiles’ inventive games, and has _the best hair_. Stiles just wants to run his fingers through it and put it in cutesy styles. And she always lets Stiles take pictures of her, posing for him, mugging for the camera in all the funniest ways.

His favorite [picture](http://36.media.tumblr.com/9178a4746c55daabb7a28c0f532a5aa1/tumblr_inline_nmo9xapzoX1tp2xng_500.png) of her is one on his phone. She’s looking directly at the lens, lips purse like she has an attitude, but really she was sucking on a piece of lemon, having been dared to do so by his son, James.

Stiles loves her, and especially loves that she and Flynn get along like gangbusters.

“I want to talk to you about Sophia,” Derek tells him. He looks serious and suddenly Stiles is no longer proud of the four chapters he’s managed to complete over the last few weeks. Now, he’s worried about the hard look on his husband’s face.

“Okay,” he says, warily.

“Not here. Upstairs.”

_Shit._

Their bedroom is soundproof. That’s where they go when they don’t want Flynn to here them discuss personal stuff (she’s a bit of a blabbermouth for a 6 year old), or get into an argument.

Flynn, James, and Sophia are currently making _“the world’s longest paper chain”_ in the living room. It’s adorable, but Stiles knows in about an hour they’ll move on to something else.

Stiles follows Derek up the steps and into their [bedroom](http://www.houzz.com/photos/49780938/Vistas-at-Highland-Ridge-Single-Family-Homes-in-Telford-PA-transitional-bedroom). Derek closes the door.

“Okay, I just wanted to bring this to your attention. That’s all. Don’t freak out and make it even bigger than it is please. And remember that they’re only 6 years old. It could be just a phase.”

“Oh, my god what is it?! You know I freak out when you tell me the fucking opposite, Derek!”

“Take a breath.”

Stiles takes a hard breath, nostrils flaring. It looks far from calming.

Derek gets a resigned look on his face, as though the words “fuck it” should appear ina thought-bubble above his head. “Earlier today I caught Flynn and Sophia in the laundry room…kissing.”

That… That is honestly the last thing he expected to be told.

“Um… What?”

“They weren’t making out or anything—they’re six for god’s sake—but I saw Sophia kiss Flynn and then Flynn kiss her back.”

“Well…do they know you saw them? Did you say anything to them?”

Stiles trusts Derek to have handled the situation in the best possible way, but there’s a reason it’s being brought to his attention in this way. Something else is afoot…

“No to both of those questions. That’s not how Boyd and I want to go about it. We’re just going to let it play out. They’re too young to really grasp what’s going on with themselves and each other right now. And it all could just be really innocent and fleeting.”

“Wait. You said this happened earlier today. When did you talk to Boyd—? Is this a thing,” Stiles asks, putting two-and-two together. “Is this not the first time and you’re just now telling me?! Does Erica know, too?!”

“Yes, this is a thing. Not the kissing though. That’s new. But there is something between them that Boyd and I have been talking about for a while now. A couple months maybe. Erica didn’t know either.”

“What?! ‘Something between them’?! Oh, you better have a damn good excuse as to why I wasn’t told all this ages ago, Derek Hale.” Stiles folds his arms over his chest, face screwed up in a scowl. He hates being left in the dark about things. Derek knows that but decided to keep this very important, sensitive situation to himself, whispering in corners about it with Boyd. 

“They’re close, Stiles. _Very close_. And their heartbeats speed up around each other and they smell different, sugary and fresh, like strawberries and plums, when they’re around each other. Flynn’s different when Sophia’s around. She’s more focused and less erratic. Boyd’s noticed a change with Sophia, too, when Flynn’s around. Boyd said she’s quiet and introspective when she’s at home or with other kids. She’s not like that when she’s here around Flynn. Boyd said it’s less like she’s trying to impress Flynn, and more like she feels safe enough to be open with her personality with Flynn.”

And that’s when it dawns on him. Stiles gets it. The thing Derek’s saying without really saying it.

“…Oh, my god… Oh, my God, Derek. Are… Are you s-saying what I think y-you’re saying?”

“Stiles—”

“MATES!”

“Fuck,” Derek groans, hands scrubbing down his face.

“Our 6 year old has a mate! They’re mates!”

“We’re not going to use the ‘M’ word. At least not yet.”

“Why not?! Everything you just said sounds like they were made for each other! They were destined to be together!”

“Okay, this is why Boyd and I kept this from you and Erica. We knew you’d turn this into too much too quickly. They’re little kids, Stiles. We need to go slow with them on this if it turns out they really are mates.”

“They are!”

“You don’t know that. This could… This could be platonic. Or a phase. Mates are rare, Stiles.”

“ _We’re mates_. And so were your parents. And my mom and dad weren’t wolves, but whatever the human equivalent is of mates, they were it, too. Mates may be rare but it seems they are hereditary within the Hale and Stilinski clans.”

“Okay. Let’s say Flynn and Sophia are mates, they’re children and have no idea of the extent of their feelings for one another and what it means. We have to guide them through this gently, and that starts with not telling them until they’re older and more mature. Can you do that?”

“Don’t condescend to me, Derek. I’m not a sieve.”

Derek raises a skeptical eyebrow.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “…I can try.”

“Stiles.”

“Fine. I will not say a word. Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” Derek replies dryly.

“Sorry I’m not allowed to be happy Pickle has a mate,” Stiles pouts.

“You can be happy for her, for the both of them, Stiles. You just can’t plan a wedding tomorrow with Erica.”

Stiles sulks. Derek’s a fun-ruiner.

Derek pecks him. “I’m going to make lunch, okay?”

Stiles nods.

Derek takes only three steps out of the room when Stiles yells after him:

“They are not getting married on a frigging beach! I refuse!”

 _“Who’s getting married,”_ Flynn asks nosily, yelling up the stairs.

 _“Yep. Totally **not** a sieve,”_ Derek yells back.

* * *

Natalie Alejandra McCall is the biggest asshole. She’s looks like an angel but it’s a facade. And it hurts Stiles like a hot knife to the gut that he can’t stand his best friend’s child.

If there’s anyone’s kid Stiles thought would suck it was surely Jackson’s. But Jackson and Kira ended up together and had the sweetest little girl born unto them. Jackson is also an incredibly doting father.

Even Peter is a fantastic father. He and Braeden aren’t together anymore but Peter maintains majority custody of Ashleigh with Braeden having her every summer and Christmas. Peter’s always fair with Braeden’s time with their daughter and never bad-mouths her in front of Ashleigh. And though Ashleigh can be a bit vain for a 4 year old, she’s also tough and pretty independent for a child.

Lydia and Parrish’s son, Bailey, is a bit of a mama’s boy, but he’s ridiculously polite, and smart as a whip. He’s seven and writes poetry. He can quote Keats and Pablo Neruda by heart.

His own son, James, has a stutter that embarrasses the introverted boy to the point of being mute when around anyone that isn’t pack. But he’s imaginative and generous when he opens up.

The point being no one’s kid is perfect, and none of them are perfect parents, but Natalie is a special brand of asshole that Scott and Allison don’t deserve.

…Or maybe they do.

“I don’t want to go [apple picking](http://previews.123rf.com/images/skylightpictures/skylightpictures1209/skylightpictures120900008/15307778-Fruit-ripe-for-the-picking-in-an-apple-orchard-Stock-Photo-apples.jpg)! Apple picking is stupid,” Natalie yells, stomping her feet and kicking up soft soil as she does.

“Natalie! Behave yourself please,” Allison scolds.

“No! You dragged me here and it’s dumb!”

“Nat, it’s not about what you want. This is something Uncle Stiles thought would be fun for the whole pack to enjoy,” Scott tries in an easy, soft voice.

She looks directly at Stiles. “Well, it’s not fun. It’s boring and there’s mud everywhere.” She digs her toe into the earth a kicks a wad of dirt at Stiles’ feet.

Flynn’s eyes burn gold at her father, her Alpha, being disrespected. Stiles holds tight to her hand. She’s attacked Natalie before. It wasn’t pretty.

“Natalie! Apologize to Stiles! Right now,” Allison barks. She’s 6 months pregnant, holding her aching back as she lifts from the bale of hay she was resting on.

“I’m not apologizing for his bad idea! We should have gone go cart racing or horseback riding!”

“Well, not all the kids are as big as you and can get on the go carts,” Scott tries to explain.

“So?! It’s not my fault they’re babies!”

Stiles is done. So very fucking done.

“Can’t we leave? Let’s go do go carts and everybody else can stay here and do dumb apple picking.”

“No, Nat. We’re a pack and we’re spending time together as a pack,” Scott says sternly.

“I hate this! And I hate you and I hate this stupid pack!”

A fierce growl interrupts her tantrum and quiets everything around them.

 _Derek._ Who comes storming toward the 7 year old with his fangs bared.

Stiles quickly looks around to make sure no one sees the hulking man in a white Henley with canid features, ready to tear into a small girl.

“Derek, come on, dude,” Scott pleas.

Derek grabs Natalie by the arm and turns her to face him as he bends at her eye level.

“Derek,” Scott exclaims.

Derek snarls at Scott who shuts the fuck up.

He and Stiles have been good over the years as to not involve themselves in parenting the kids of their pack members. They may be Alphas but that doesn’t mean they’re everyone’s parent. And it certainly doesn’t mean they get to act like they are. Each of them raise their children differently, and short of abuse, it’s not their business how they do it. But Natalie has been a pain in the ass since she was 3 years old and like the rest of them, Derek is sick of it.

His eyes are red, piercing into her. Her own eyes respond in bright yellow.

Stiles can’t help it. He has to take a [picture](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/268879040229859455/) of this. Derek’s never gone full-Alpha on a kid before.

“We. Are. Done.”

Her breath hitches, on the verge of tears.

“You will be silent and obedient to your elders. You will be polite, you will participate, and you will be appreciative. Pack is family. There is nothing more important than family. Hence, your presence here and in the future when pack is needed and together. Understood?”

Tears fall from her eyes. “Yes, Alpha.”

“Apologize.”

She sniffles and wipes her face with her sleeve. “I’m sorry, Uncle Stiles. I’m sorry everyone.” She runs to Allison, burying her face in her round belly.

Scott doesn’t look all too happy with Derek for cowing his kid, but something had to be done. The girl is a complete brat and it’s about time she be made aware that her behavior won’t stand.

Erica’s snorting probably doesn’t help though.

Derek stands, facing shifting back to human. He casually walks over and picks James up in his arms. “The pie making starts in an hour and a half, but there’s a hayride around the farm that’s in 10 minutes for anyone that’s interested.”

It’s all he says before walking further into the orchard, lifting James high enough to snatch an apple from it’s branch.

Stiles bites his lip to keep from laughing. He catches the glare on Scott’s face. He gives him a shrug and follows Derek down the orchard path.

»»»

“Fuck, Stiles…”

Stiles’ thighs slap fast and sweaty against Derek’s as he bounces atop the werewolf’s lap. His hands grip the headboard, white-knuckling it with Derek’s cock deep inside him.

Derek’s claws prick the skin on his hips as a growl pushes past his fangs.

“Christ, it’s hot when you shift.” Stiles leans down and licks at his sharp teeth without losing stride.

Derek sits up wrapping strong arms around Stiles’ body. He grips his hair with a hard tug, making Stiles whimper. Derek takes over, pumping into Stiles.

“Oh, god! Fuck!”

He’s right on top of Stiles’ prostate and the human doesn’t know how long he’s going to last.

Derek spits into his palm and closes his wet hand around Stiles’ dick. Stiles’ skin burns hot and that too good feeling he gets when he’s with Derek like this starts in his toes, working its way up his taut body.

“I can smell you’re about to come,” snarls in his ear.

Stiles cries out, loud and long, spurting thick ropes of come all over Derek’s stomach and hand.

Derek growls as Stiles goes limp, nearly faint, in his hold. He slams hard into Stiles, fangs grazing his lean neck, jolting him out of his sex haze.

“Oh, god, Derek, please.”

Derek rocks steadily into Stiles, still pressing on his prostate. It’s too much and Stiles squirms, trying to push away, but Derek has a vice grip on him.

He digs his nails deep into the skin at his shoulder, but it only seems to egg the Alpha on more. Derek flips them over, Stiles on his back, as he fucks him with a punishing cadence, banging the headboard loudly against the wall.

This is exactly why they had to replace the last one.

Stiles can’t tell the difference between pleasure and pain at the moment. Tears peek at the corner of his eyes.

Derek’s eyes flash red and Stiles comes a second time.

Derek’s back arches as a roar rips through him and he fills Stiles with his orgasm.

Stiles reaches up, running a hand through Derek’s onyx hair and tugging him down for a hard kiss. They’ve been married for almost 6 years, together for seven, and it’s still just as good as it was the first time.

“I love you,” Stiles tells him, finding his breath.

“I love you, too.” He kisses Stiles again, slow and devoted.

They lie in each other’s arms for a few moments before Derek gently pulls out of Stiles. Cum oozes from his swollen hole. Derek’s cock is still hard and red at the tip as he walks into the adjoining master bathroom.

Stiles hears the faucet run then shut off.

Derek returns to the bedroom with a glass of water and a wet washcloth. He hands the water to Stiles who takes a big gulp before sitting the glass on the nightstand by his side of the bed.

Derek cleans Stiles with the warm cloth. “I hurt you?”

Stiles shakes his head.

Derek nods. Derek’s always afraid he’s going to wolf-out in bed and be unable to control himself but Stiles trusts him. And knows he has the best control he’s seen in another werewolf. Derek’s more likely to hurt himself in bed on accident than he is to hurt Stiles.

Derek wipes away the drying cum on the back of Stiles’ thighs.

“You feel bad about Natalie,” Stiles asks, seemingly random. But Derek knows how his brain works.

“…Yes. And no.”

“You shouldn’t. And you shouldn’t worry about offending Scott. He’ll get over it and realize it had to be done.”

“Scott? Scott McCall you’re talking about,” Derek smirks.

Stiles snorts. “Yeah. You’re right. I’ll talk to him.”

Derek tosses the washcloth on the nightstand next to the glass of water Stiles was drinking. “I lost my whole family except for Peter. They’re gone. My pack. Some of them weren’t blood-related to me, but they were family nevertheless. And it just…tore something in me to hear her say that about us… No matter how mad I got at my family, for whatever stupid reason, I never hated them, or told them that. Pack was…everything. They were my whole life. And it felt smothering a lot of the time, which was one of the reasons Kate was able to—”

“Hey. I thought the ‘K’ word isn’t something that’s mentioned in this house.”

Kate’s name hasn’t been uttered inside the walls of their home for a very long time. Not since Stiles slit her throat with an _[athame](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Athame)_  in Mexico after the twins were born.

“I’m not dwelling, Stiles. I’m… I want everyone in this pack to know how important it is to have each other.”

Stiles sits up, circling his arms around Derek’s neck. “They know that. We all know that. I promise you, Derek. No one takes this family for granted. Especially not after today.”

Derek chuckles lightly.

Stiles kisses him. A soft, reassuring kiss that he hopes says everything he intends for it to say. Their lips part. Derek runs his thumb lightly across Stiles wet, bottom lip.

Stiles rests their foreheads together and breaths… “I showed Gail, the grandma with the cat sweaters, in my photography class, my favorite picture of you yesterday.”

“Oh, yeah? What picture is that?”

Stiles tears himself away from Derek to lean over and grab his phone off the floor. It fell from his back pocket when Derek tugged off his jeans.

He opens his gallery and scrolls for the picture. “This one,” he says, turning the phone around for Derek to see.

Derek smiles. The picture is focused mainly on Derek’s large hands; his wedding band on his left ring finger and a small newborn between his arms. It’s the first time Derek held James when they brought him and Flynn home from the hospital. A simple [photo](http://coffeepearlsandpoetry.tumblr.com/post/64343559903) that expresses so much with so little. Just a father holding his son.

Stiles remembers the tears that fell from Derek’s eyes and the proud, happy smile on his face as he looked down at the child in his arms. He made that. He made this tiny person. And he loves him more than his own life. More than he thought he could ever love anything.

“That’s a good one,” Derek says with a smile.

“I think so, too.” Stiles changes the background of his phone to that picture. He wants to look at it everyday. Every single time he picks up his phone he wants to remember how happy his husband was, simply by having a child. A family. A pack.

“I’m actually really partial to that one picture you took of Flynn in the pink dress Melissa made her.”

Stiles knows exactly what picture Derek’s talking about.

Flynn commented on a picture of Stiles’ mother she saw at the sheriff’s house one day. He gave it to her and she told Stiles how the sheriff said she looked _“so much like your grandmother.”_

She does. Heartbreakingly so. And Stiles doesn’t know why he did it, but he thought with his new photography class that it’d be an interesting idea to recreate the picture with Flynn.

She had a pale pink dress Melissa made for her for her birthday earlier this year that looked strikingly like the dress his mother wore in the photo. Stiles used the basement at the Beacon Hills Public Library as the backdrop and Erica did Flynn’s hair and make up.

It wasn’t until Stiles developed the pictures, comparing them side by side, that he felt crippled and sadden by the whole thing. It only made him miss his mother more and crush his insides that she had a granddaughter that looked just like her that she’ll never meet. He cried on Scott’s shoulder all afternoon and told him not to tell Derek.

He gave the [picture](http://tinnacriss.tumblr.com/post/75677621125) and all its negatives to his father.

“Yeah. That’s a good one,” he says dismissively. “Hey! This one. This has got to be my favorite picture of the two of them.” He shows it to Derek.

Derek outright laughs. “Yeah. That one. That one definitely wins.”

Years ago, right after the twins were born, Stiles had their pictures taken by an actual, paid photographer. A nice enough lady with a cool, Anne Leibowitz manner to her, who dressed them up in funny baby costumes that Derek hated and Stiles thought was hilarious.

But there was one picture. One that both he and Derek could agree on that they loved and wanted a thousand copies of to give to everyone they knew. And they did. They handed out, mailed, and posted every frame of it to all their friends and family. Along with a few strangers.

Stiles even had it printed on a T-shirt that Derek refused to let him leave the house in.

It’s their best photo. They one they’ll be talking about and embarrassed by well into adulthood.

“I want this to be the [picture](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/f7/94/b7/f794b79fd49003eb39206d05eba447c6.jpg) that we blow up and hang on the wall at their graduation party.”

“Oh, I bet they’ll love that,” Derek says sarcastically.

Stiles beams at the picture on his phone. “I don’t care. I love this one and I want it everywhere.”

Derek takes Stiles’ phone from him. He lies down on his back and pulls Stiles to his chest, arm extended with the phone, aiming for a selfie. “Smile.”

Stiles does. He smiles big, and bright and happy. Because he is.

“You know, we could use that camera to take more interesting pictures…”

“Don’t you have enough nude pictures of me,” Derek says.

Stiles takes his phone back and straddles Derek. He’s beautiful. Inside and out. And maybe if he keeps taking pictures of him other people will see what he sees. Maybe all that inner beauty will come bursting out and capture itself on a small rectangle as evidence, for all the world to see.

Or maybe Derek’s so beautiful on the outside because he’s so beautiful on the inside. Maybe that’s why he looks like a Grecian god.

Either way, Stiles doesn’t think there will ever be enough Derek Hale for him to see.

Stiles focuses the camera right on Derek’s face.

“Never.”

***Click***

**Author's Note:**

> I finally found something to do with all those cute kid pics I have on my WE HEART IT account like a creeper. And I love getting to explore a few not-so-typical TW pairings. 
> 
> Hope you liked it! :D


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